When the Snowman Brings the Snow
by JamesLuver
Summary: Modern AU. Sometimes a prize is a snowball to the face. Sometimes it's something that will melt frozen hearts.


**A/N:** Happy Holidays to all who celebrate, and Happy Wednesday to those who don't. I hope this season brings you all so many good things.

**Disclaimer:** I don't own _Downton Abbey_.

* * *

_When the Snowman Brings the Snow_

"Your favourite time of the year is upon us," Anna announced as she dropped her things into the chair opposite him.

John looked up from his morning newspaper, arching his eyebrow at her as she shrugged off her thick winter coat and unwound the scarf from around her neck. "The end of The X Factor? It's finally in sight."

She flicked the scarf in his direction. "Idiot. You know very well what I mean. Christmas! I've received my invitation from Robert and Cora."

John groaned. "God, it gets earlier every year." It was still _November_, for Christ's sake.

"They're doing it so you haven't got the chance to pretend to make other plans to wriggle out of it," Anna chirped, folding herself into her seat and reaching for the cup of tea that he'd made for her, knowing her arrival was imminent. "Robert knows you too well."

"You would think at my age I'd be able to have my own autonomy about where I'm spending the Christmas holidays," John muttered.

"Yes, but we all know that if you were given the chance you'd just stay at yours and sulk all day," she teased. "Robert's being proactive at dragging you out of your cave."

"Sometimes I wish he wouldn't."

"You don't mean that. No one wants to be alone at Christmas. Besides, you're not going to be the only guest. The whole Crawley entourage will be present, and I'll be there too. I promise to keep you entertained. Unless you've grown bored of my company and you're trying to find ways of avoiding me."

"Since when have I ever grown tired of your presence?" he protested.

"I don't know. You're too much of a gentleman to tell me if I'm getting on your nerves."

"You could never get on my nerves. Robert, on the other hand…"

Anna laughed, taking a sip of tea. "I know. Robert frequently gets on your nerves. But you love him anyway."

"God knows why," he muttered. Robert Crawley tested his patience almost every day—and more frequently than ever recently now that he'd decided that John had been a single man for far too long. Almost every day now he was being bombarded with pictures of Cora's rich, divorcee friends and a short summary of their pros and cons. Unfortunately, Robert didn't seem to be thinking with the right part of his anatomy, and most of said descriptions were superficial at best. And the last thing John really wanted to know about any of Cora's friends was their bra size.

What was worse, Robert had actually had the gall to set him up with a _Tinder _profile. That had been a most unpleasant learning curve. His phone had exploded one evening with a score of messages from a couple of different women. He was hardly a stranger to sex, but even he had blushed at the profanity of some of those messages. Gone were the days where women were expected to be prim and proper, and of course he was glad about that…he would just rather not have it thrust upon him from a total stranger. In the end he'd decided that silence was the best way of deterring any would-be Lilith, but that had apparently only been taken as some kind of challenge by one; his phone had dinged constantly with message after message.

It had only come to a head when Anna had caught sight of the notification as his phone had sat on his desk; before he'd been able to snatch it away she'd swiped it from under his nose and read it, eyebrows almost disappearing into her hairline.

"Wow," she'd said, a hint of disapproval in her voice. "Someone's quite the lucky fella, isn't he? You didn't tell me that you were testing the waters again."

"That's because I'm not!" he'd said, perhaps a touch too quickly. "Honestly, I should be insulted. Do I really strike you as the type of bloke who'd be interested in online dating?"

"This woman clearly thinks so," Anna said, waving the phone in his face. "She's making it graphically clear."

"You'll also see that I haven't replied."

"Then why do you have the app at all?"

"Why do you think? Because Robert bloody downloaded it for me and sorted it without me knowing. I need to uninstall it."

"I'll do it for you," Anna offered.

"Would you?"

"In two shakes of a lamb's tail. If that's what you want."

"Of course it's what I want."

There'd been a triumphant gleam in Anna's eyes as she had gone about her promise, but John hadn't dared to think on that too much. It couldn't mean anything. Anna was young, beautiful, intelligent, in the prime of her life. The prime of his had passed him by. He had nothing to offer her, and she did not deserve to throw her life away on someone like him. There would be a hundred men lining the streets to take her out, he was sure of it. Anna was precious. She deserved someone who could treat her like the queen she was.

He would never be that man, much as he might long for it.

So he'd pushed that to the back of his mind and boxed it in with all the other things he didn't want to think about. His mother had tried to make him see a therapist after his time in the army, but he'd only gone to one session before refusing to go again. The woman had been insistent on telling him that it wasn't healthy for him to box his feelings up and refuse to acknowledge their existence. Said that ignoring the problem wasn't dealing with it. He begged to differ. It was the only way of dealing with it.

It wasn't serving him too badly, all things considered. He didn't need a shrink poking and prodding his mind, trying to extract all of the painful memories like the surgeon had extracted the bullet from his knee.

"So you're coming to the Crawleys'?" Anna pressed, breaking him out of his ruminations. He glanced across at her now, pink-cheeked and windswept and oh-so eager, and felt his heart contract in his chest. No matter what he might tell himself, he couldn't deny the truth of the matter: she meant such a great deal to him. More than anyone ever had done before.

"I wouldn't miss it for the world," he found himself saying.

Anna's smile lit up the room.

* * *

December sped by with alarming speed. Christmas carollers, decorations, the never-ending playlist of the same bloody songs, all of it went over John's head as he tried to ignore the season of goodwill. Robert was fond of telling him that he was nothing more than a boring old Scrooge. John couldn't argue with him there. He was. But his last Christmas with Vera had rather tainted the celebrations for him, and he'd spent the following two locked up behind bars. So he could probably be forgiven for not having any great affection for the holiday.

Unlike Anna. He knew she loved it more than anything else in the world. Goodwill, kindness, making people smile, that was something Anna loved. And so he would do his best not to be too miserable and spoil it for her.

Still, it was with trepidation that he opened his curtains on Christmas morning and resigned himself to getting ready to head to Downton Abbey, Robert's large country estate. Going there always felt like stepping back in time; he could see the rich gents in their tweed now, going out for a day of hunting grouse. Not that he'd've been there. He'd've been back at the house, probably some kind of servant awaiting their return.

He went downstairs and prepared himself a cup of tea and a slice of toast. It tasted like cardboard, and he swallowed with great difficulty. It did nothing to settle the surge of nerves in his stomach, either.

When he could put it off no longer, he headed upstairs to get ready. He took a long, hot shower, brooding about the upcoming day under the warm spray. He shaved carefully, removing all traces of last night's stubble, dabbing aftershave to his throat. He spent fifteen minutes agonising in front of the wardrobe, wondering what the hell he should wear. In the end he decided on a plum-coloured jumper that fit the Christmas season well enough, like a warm, rich port, paired with dark jeans. He sprayed liberal amounts of cologne and tried to get his hair to behave. He was mostly successful—apart from with those same stubborn strands that seemed to always flop forward over his forehead.

And then he could put off leaving no longer.

Grabbing his cane, he slung his thick winter coat over his shoulders and limped out of the door. Thankfully the promised snow had not fallen, and he made the short journey across town to Robert and Cora's sweeping estate with little incident. He hadn't fancied trying to navigate his way through six inches of snow with his cane.

He rang the doorbell when he arrived at the top of the sweeping drive, which was almost another mile walk. By the time he'd reached the front door his knee was aching a little in protest at the uneven gravel he had been forced to walk on, and he took the opportunity to lean against the wall, breathing hard through his nose to try to alleviate some of the discomfort.

The door opened behind him. He straightened at once, plastering on the first of what would no doubt be many fake smiles during the day. Curious blue eyes peered up at him.

"Hey, George," he greeted the little boy.

"Hi, Uncle John," he said.

"How are you?"

"Good," he said, holding out a solemn hand. John had to bite back a chuckle at that. George was the spitting image of his father with his blond hair and baby blue eyes, but he was every inch his mother in his mannerisms.

"Well, I'm glad to hear it," he said, reaching out and giving his hand a firm shake. "Did Santa Claus come to you?"

He nodded. "Yes. I got lots of nice things. So did Sybbie and Marigold."

"Well, that's great news! But it was never in doubt. You're a good lad."

"Ah, Bates, there you are!" came Robert's booming voice from inside. "I was wondering if I was going to have to come and drag you out of that hole of yours."

"I'm a man of my word. If I say I'm going to be here, I'll be here."

"That's exactly the kind of man you want to be," Robert told George. "People love a man who sticks to his word. Girls especially." He winked at John.

George wrinkled his nose. "I don't _like _girls."

"Sure, you don't like girls now. You're only young. But wait until you hit your teens. Then you won't be able to think about anything else."

"Donk, stop it!" George covered his ears, embarrassed, and hurtled back down the hallway. "I'm not listening to you anymore!"

Robert snickered. "I see he's about as mature as you when it comes to talking about women."

"Shut up, Donk," John said, pushing his way over the threshold.

His friend scowled at him. "Don't call me that. You know I hate it."

"As much as I hate you constantly harping on about women."

"Touché. Fine, you miserable arse. I won't breathe another word about it. It is Christmas, after all. I don't want you spoiling things sitting there with a face like thunder. But for the record you really should lighten up. There's only so much of the dark brooding women like before it gets annoying."

"That's the plan," John muttered, shrugging off his coat.

"You're mad. You're free from Vera and you want to let her continue ruining your life?"

"Leave off it, Robert. I mean it."

He held up his hands. "All right, all right. I'll drop it for now. But I'm not going to drop it forever. You can't avoid the subject, even if you want to."

"Which I do."

"I despair of you, I really do. Anyway, head on through. I'll get you a drink. What do you want?"

"Water's fine, thank you."

"Can't you try to show a _little _bit of enthusiasm?"

"I'm here, aren't I? I could have rejected your offer and stayed at home."

Robert shook his head, uttering something that sounded very much like, "Stubborn." He gestured for John to make his way through to the large front room, and continued his own way to the kitchen. John slipped inside.

Most of the Crawley clan was already here—no doubt they'd all slept under this roof in order to be all together for the magical day.

"Hey!" Tom Branson called jovially from across the room where he was playing with Sybbie. "We thought you weren't going to make it."

"I thought I'd better come and keep you out of trouble with Robert," John retorted good-naturedly. "I know all too well what the Irish are like once they've had a drink."

"The life and soul of the party," Tom winked, and John laughed, moving forward to shake hands with Matthew Crawley.

"Surviving?" he asked.

"Just about," said Matthew. "I thought I'd escape the kitchen for a bit."

"Hectic in there?"

"You could say that. Violet and Cora are one carrot away from clashing. Violet thinks that Cora is a helpless American incapable of cooking a traditional Christmas dinner. She's telling her exactly how she should be doing it. I think Cora is about ready to explode."

"I take it that's where Mary is, then? Refereeing?"

"Along with Sybil. You can't leave anything like that to Robert. He's hopeless."

"Cheers to that," came Robert's voice from behind them. "If there's one thing I've learnt, it's not to get in the middle of a cat fight. We always end up being the villains somehow. No, I'm steering well clear."

He handed John his drink—juice rather than water—and took a swig of his own wine. "We're still waiting for Anna, I see."

John's heart leapt at the sound of her name, and he busied himself with taking a gulp of his own drink to stop himself from smiling. Christ, he was doomed if just the mere mention of her name could make him feel that way.

"She texted Mary to say she was on her way so she should be here any minute," said Matthew.

True enough, not five minutes later the doorbell rang again. Robert excused himself to go and answer it, and John took a deep breath, trying to pretend that his hand wasn't suddenly very slippery on the glass.

She appeared in the doorway looking beautiful. Cheeks flushed red from the brisk wind and hair tangled, she simply took his breath away. How did she get more beautiful with every day that passed?

She glanced around the room, and her eyes met his. It was as if his blood had turned to electricity in his veins, sparking and warm. No woman had ever made him feel like this, not even Vera at the beginning.

Which made it all the more dangerous. All the more tragic. He was doomed to pine for her for the rest of his life, never able to know what it was like to love her properly for fear of ruining her life.

She made her way over to him, giving him one of those beaming smiles that made his heart ache in his chest. "Merry Christmas."

"Merry Christmas," he returned softly. "You look very nice." It was better that he didn't shower compliments on her, but he found he couldn't help himself. She deserved to be showered with a million compliments and favours, to be heralded as the goddess she was.

"Thank you," she said. "You don't look half bad yourself." Before he could unstick his tongue enough to come up with some reply to that, she turned to Matthew. "Hello, Matthew. Merry Christmas to you as well."

"Back at you," said Matthew, a twinkle in his eyes. John disliked that look. It was far too knowing. The younger man was making assumptions he ought not to. He would feed them back to Mary, who was bound to bring them up to Anna, who in turn might begin to think on things far more than she ought…it was a vicious, inescapable circle.

A slightly awkward silence fell. John took another sip of his drink just to give him something to do, pretending to be most engrossed in studying the family portrait that hung above the fireplace. Mary and Edith hated the sight of it, Mary because she was convinced that it made her look a sullen teen—which, in fairness, it did—and Edith because she'd been in that gangly phase between childhood and adulthood and hadn't looked as if she fit anywhere—what was new there, Mary would snipe.

It was a bit cheesy, John supposed, but he could see the sentiment in it too. Forever immortalising such a happy moment in Robert's life…he couldn't fault him for that. He had three beautiful daughters, a beautiful wife, and an imperious mother that would do anything for the family name. He knew that Robert had grand plans of recreating it now that he had three beautiful grandchildren and three fine son-in-laws.

"I'm going to get a refill," said Matthew. "Anyone want anything?"

"I'm fine, thank you," said Anna. Before John could say a word for himself the younger man had slipped away with a sly smirk, leaving the two of them alone. An awkward silence fell.

"You look very nice," he said at last.

Anna laughed. "You've said that already."

"Well, it bears repeating. You're looking very festive."

"I thought I'd get in the spirit of the season," she said, gesturing to the holly she'd pinned to her jumper. "The only problem is, I keep forgetting that this ruddy stuff is here and pricking myself on it."

John snorted, shaking his head. "Well, that's not much good."

"Not really. So I'd better refrain from giving anyone a hug unless they want to be stabbed to death."

"I'd take that offer if it meant I got out of having to pick a side out of old Violet's or Isobel's," he joked. "You know they're going to find something to disagree on and they'll be gathering allies."

Anna shuddered. "Now that's something I could do without. I work with Isobel so she'll expect me to side with her, and I'm Mary's best friend so Violet will only think it's natural that I should take _her _side."

"We could hide in the garden," he suggested. "We might freeze to death, but it'd probably be preferable to disappointing one of them."

She burst into peals of laughter, resting her hand lightly on his arm. Even through his jumper, he could feel the warmth of her, and it only made his own body flash with heat. "Honestly, you're terrible."

He was saved the trouble of having to come up with a reply by Robert, who stood in the doorway tinkling a bell.

"Ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls!" he said cheerfully. "Dinner is now served!"

There was a collective cheer, and the kids rushed for the door. Robert barely moved out of the way in time, in very real danger of being barrelled over.

"Well, it's a good thing some people are enthusiastic for Cora's cooking," he quipped. "You might not enjoy it, but you're guaranteed to never forget it."

"Cora would kill him if she knew what he was saying," giggled Anna as they began to make their way towards the huge dining room.

"Forget stuffing the turkey, she'd stuff _him_," John agreed. "But you know what Rob's like. Speaks before he thinks. He'd say it's some of his charm. She must have found it endearing at some point. Bloody hard to imagine how, though. He drives me mad."

They entered the dining room together to find the children already in their seats, glancing around impatiently for their food. Anna tugged on his sleeve inconspicuously.

"Let's stay at this end," she murmured. "We might avoid being caught in the crossfire that way."

"Old Violet will find a way of dragging us into her war if that's what she really wants to do," he said, but acquiesced anyway, taking the seat on her right hand side. It was a bad idea, putting himself this close to her, but she was the flame and he was the moth, and the warmth of her was far too much to resist.

For an ostentatious occasion like this, Robert and Cora had recruited actual waiters; John felt sorry for the poor souls, forced to serve food to complete strangers when they should have been at home enjoying Christmas with their own loved ones. He knew Anna shared that mind with him; he caught her shooting them sympathetic looks, and she made sure that she gave them a heartfelt thank you every time they came around the table.

The food, surprisingly, was delicious. Despite Robert's teasing, Cora was infamous for being a rather poor chef. However, today she'd managed to pull it off with aplomb. No doubt Violet would be taking the credit for that. The Crawley matriarch couldn't resist meddling wherever she could.

"Cora makes foreign food look edible," she was fond of saying, in that awkwardly close-to-the-knuckle way that the older generation had.

Halfway through the meal, George gave a yell.

"Look outside!"

Automatically, they all turned to see what he was looking at. John heard Anna gasp beside him.

The snow which had been threatening earlier that morning had now started to fall with a vengeance. The sky had gone the colour of steelworks, and the blindingly white eddies of snow swirled around in a frenzy, as if the world had done something to displease the gods.

"Snow!" Sybbie squealed. "Daddy, can I go out in it?"

"After we've finished eating, sweetpea," Tom said, tucking a strand of her hair behind her ear. "Not until. Granny has worked very hard to make sure we all have a very nice meal, and it wouldn't be fair of us to let that go to waste."

"Even if that's where the roast potatoes belong," Violet muttered.

The rest o the meal passed without incident. Bottles of wine were passed frequently around the table, though John noticed that Anna covered the top of her glass to prevent it being topped up again after she'd finished her second one. He himself hadn't touched a drop in years, not since the day he'd taken the rap for Vera's theft. That had been the most stone-cold sobering moment of his life, and he never wanted to end up back there again.

When dessert came around, Isobel clinked her wine glass.

"Attention, everyone!" she called. "I would like to make a toast!"

"Must we listen to this?" said Violet.

Isobel shot her a glare. "Yes, we must."

"I'm not in the mood for listening to one of your holier-than-thou rants. We know you're a better soul than the rest of us. You don't need to remind us of it every five minutes. It gets very dull."

"Says the woman who takes every opportunity to tell us that she's the greatest asset this family has ever seen!"

"Well, if the cap fits…"

"You called it," Anna murmured, leaning in so only he would hear her words.

"Told you. I'm more likely to win the lottery than these two not arguing when they're put in the same room with each other."

"Robert will back me on this," said Violet, her voice bringing them back to the present with a bump; John wondered what they'd missed in their conspiratorial whispering.

Robert looked alarmed to have been singled out first. "Oh, I don't know—"

As Violet's eyes flashed warningly, Anna whispered, "This is our chance to get out." Out loud, she addressed the rest of the room: "Who's up for going out in the snow?"

She was met by a chorus of "Me!" from the Crawley grandchildren, and they bolted out of their seats at once.

"Come on, John," Anna said briskly, and without waiting for anyone else to say anything, she tugged on his arm and pulled him out of the room with her.

"You naughty girl," he said admiringly as they followed George, Sybbie, and Marigold to the hallway.

She giggled. "I had to take the opening I saw."

"I'm grateful you did. You've just saved us a world of pain. Like I said, I'd rather freeze my balls off outside."

She giggled. "Don't let the kids hear you saying that! You'll have Mary's wrath raining down on top of your head."

"Yeah, like Tom Branson doesn't say worse at home. He's an Irishman, I know the kind of language they use…"

The three children had already made their way outside into the thick blanket of snow. John could hear them shrieking and yelling as they darted about in the large front garden. He snagged Anna's coat down from the stand and held it open for her.

"Why thank you, kind sir," she said, affecting a posh accent that was a far cry from her usual Yorkshire lilt. "What a gentleman you are."

"Not really," he said. "I have an ulterior motive. I'm going to need you to take the lead out there. I'm not very good around children."

"Don't be ridiculous," she scolded. "You're brilliant with kids. I've seen you with all three of the Crawley grandchildren. They adore you. Think you're brilliant. I've seen you when it comes to story time. You're a master, and you've got them hanging on to your every word. And I rather think that Marigold is a kindred spirit. You're her favourite person by far."

His heart leapt a little at that. He couldn't deny it: he _wasn't _sure what he was doing when children were involved. He'd never wanted any when he was with Vera, and now the chance had rather passed him by. He'd had very limited dealings with Mary, Edith, and Sybil when they were young, even though he was the latter's godfather. He'd spent most of their formative years away in London, drinking himself stupid and getting himself into the same repetitive arguments with Vera. It wasn't until he'd moved to Yorkshire five years ago that he really started to bond with them.

And none of the bonds he shared with the Crawleys compared to the bond he'd formed with Anna. _That _had been a revelation in itself, and even though he knew it could never go beyond friendship, he was grateful every day that they had been brought together. No one on earth could possibly compare to her.

"Anyway, we're wasting time standing here," said Anna, interrupting his thoughts. "We'd better get out there if we don't want to be dragged back into the dining room."

"Sounds like a plan," he agreed, and followed her out of the front door.

The biting cold slapped his cheeks at once, and he withdrew further into the neck of his thick winter coat. He had plenty of padding to keep him warm but even he could feel the sub-zero temperatures, so God knew how Anna was going to cope, small and slender as she was. The last thing he wanted was for her to catch a cold, if only for his own selfish need. He hated it when she had a week's holiday at work, for he missed her face every single day. No one else's presence could brighten him the way that she did, and she was always there to make fun of Thomas Barrow and Sarah O'Brien when they played their nasty games.

Catching a cold seemed to be the last thing she was preoccupied with at the current time; she had reached young Marigold's side and was busy helping her to mould some snowballs. Nearby, Sybbie was singing Frozen's _Do You Wanna Build a Snowman? _At the top of her lungs, digging on all fours like a puppy.

George stood nearby, arms folded across his chest. John thrust his hands into his pockets and trudged over to him.

"What's wrong?" he asked, standing next to him and following the two little girls with his eyes.

George pouted. "I don't wanna play snowball fights."

"Oh? I thought that would have been right up your street."

George shrugged, digging the toe of his welly into the thick snow. "Dad says I'm not supposed to hit girls. And Marigold cries at nearly anything. She'd tell tales on me to Auntie Edith."

"She's only little," John said reasonably, hiding his smile at George's wounded expression. "She's going to be a bit more fragile than you are. And your dad's a fine man. He's right when he says you shouldn't hit girls. But I don't think it counts when it comes to snowball fighting. All's fair in love and war then." He nudged him conspiratorially. "See, if I wanted to, I could throw a snowball at Auntie Anna while she isn't paying any attention to us."

"But you won't!" said George, sounding utterly horrified at the prospect of such cheating.

John couldn't contain his laughter. "You're right, no, I won't. What _do _you want to do, then? There must be something you fancy."

"I'd like to build a snowman," he confessed. "That's always fun. But Mummy never wants to help because she hates being outside in the cold."

Typical Mary. John shook his head, hiding his smile. If it wasn't glamourous, Mary wasn't interested. And there was definitely nothing glamorous about being togged up to the ears in winter clothes, looking like round little Martians from another planet.

"Well, Auntie Anna and I will help you if that's what you want," he said. "I've a feeling she'd be excellent at that sort of thing."

"But you could probably roll a bigger snowball for his body," George mused. "Because you're bigger and stronger."

"Don't let Auntie Anna hear you say that. She's a spitfire in her own right."

"What? Auntie Anna is a _plane_?"

"Never mind. Here's an idea: why don't we all make our own snowmen and judge who's got the best one? The winner gets a prize."

"What kind of prize?"

"I don't know. The judges can decide. What do you think?"

George mulled it over for a moment before grinning. "Yeah!"

"So Auntie Anna and I will judge the best snowman out of yours, Sybbie's, and Marigold's. And you three can judge whether Auntie Anna or I have the better one."

"Okay!" he said enthusiastically. "I'm gonna tell the girls!" He scarpered with a spray of snow, and John shook his head. Oh, to be young again and so enthusiastic about the simplest of things.

The idea went down a treat. Battle lines were drawn. Anna consented to making her own snowman with equal enthusiasm, which only made his heart warm. He could well imagine her doing something like this with children of her own one day. Unfortunately, those children wouldn't be shared with him, and it was a lonely thought. She would be a brilliant mum. He might be godfather to one of them. Little miniature Annas toddling about, stealing hearts wherever they went. Or perhaps they would look like their dad, a constant reminder to him that he had what John could never have for himself.

Morbid thoughts, especially for Christmas Day. John shook them away and threw himself into his own snowman-building, of only to escape.

It proved to be a rather soothing task. Packing the snow together was hard work, and he was soon sweating beneath his layers. But he had long ago become accustomed to hard work and he kept at it with dogged determination, rolling it until he had a firm base. His back ached with the constant bending over, but soon he had a respectable snowman in progress.

Anna's was coming along well too, though it was smaller than his, and a bit more lopsided. The less that was said about the children's efforts, the better. They hardly looked like snowmen at all, but they would need to coo over them as if they were the finest works of art that had ever graced the planet. He might have to leave that part to Anna, really. She was much better at that kind of thing.

At last five snowmen stood dotted around the area, in various states of disrepair.

"We'll judge first," said John. "Come on, Auntie Anna."

He led her a short distance away and they huddled together, pretending to be engrossed in a very serious discussion.

"Right, what are we thinking?" he said.

"I like the heart Marigold's put into hers," said Anna.

John fought to keep a straight face. "Ah, you're being the Mary Berry. Does that mean I have to be the Paul Hollywood? It looks like a molehill."

"John!" she giggled. "Don't be so mean. She's only a baby. She tried her best."

"I know she did. It's cute. Doesn't change the facts."

"You're a horrible human being."

"And you're an angel on earth, we know all of this already."

"Oh, hush. You flatterer."

They were playing that game again. The dangerous one that hugged the line between friendliness and flirting. With an effort, he steered the conversation back towards safer territory. "What did you think of Sybbie's efforts?"

"I liked her snowman's scarf. Set it apart."

"And George's?"

"His use of the twigs was inspired."

"We're not getting anywhere with this, are we?" he said. "How are we going to decide?"

"I don't know! I don't want to disappoint any of them. Maybe we should rock-paper-scissors it."

"Or give it to Marigold because she's the baby and hope that Sybbie and George understand."

Anna snorted. "Hardly. George is his mother's son when it comes to being the best. He won't be happy."

"Maybe I can have a talk with him, man to man. Let him know that it's the gentlemanly thing to do to accept a loss to a lady with good grace."

"That's true; you're very good at accepting a loss with good grace."

"Have to be, don't I? I don't think I've ever won a battle against you."

"Nor will you ever. Just face it, Mr. Bates, I'm always right. It's best not to fight me when I've got an idea in my head. It's guaranteed to be the best thing for all parties involved."

He shook his head, lips tugging upwards in a reluctant smile. He couldn't help himself. It was impossible to do anything else in her presence. "So we're decided on Marigold?"

"We're decided on Marigold," Anna confirmed.

They returned to their positions in front of the three fidgeting children. Anna cleared her throat, stepping forward.

"Well, all of your efforts are absolutely amazing," she said. "I'm impressed with all three of you. If we could have let all of you win, we would have. But that's not in keeping with the rules, so with that in mind we've made our decision. And our winner is…"

"…Marigold," said John.

"I won, I won!" the little girl shouted, jumping up and down on the spot, curly hair flying. Sybbie gave her a hug of congratulations, so very much like her kind-hearted mother, but George's bottom lip popped out.

"No fair," he complained. "Mine was better!"

"That's not how to accept defeat gracefully," said John.

"Mummy says that first is the only place we accept!"

Anna rolled her eyes. "I might have to have words with your mummy about her wording. The really important bit is the participating. Even if you don't always win, there's always something to learn from."

"Like keeping frogs outside in their natural environment," Sybbie offered helpfully. "I learned that I shouldn't put them on the teacher's desk anymore if I don't want to get into trouble, even if I just wanted to keep them safe."

"A little bit different to what I was thinking of, but the principle is the same," Anna chuckled.

"I guess," George sighed, admitting defeat, though he looked far from happy about it. He turned to his younger cousin. "Well done, Marigold."

It was grudging, but it was a victory nevertheless. Matthew would be proud of his son.

"That means you get a prize," said John. "What would you like, little love?"

Marigold jigged on the spot, evidently deep in thought, then whispered, "A story."

"A story? That's a fine prize," said Anna.

"Uncle John does the best ones."

Anna shot him a look that clearly said _I told you so_. "I agree with you. Uncle John is a very fine storyteller. He creates magical worlds, doesn't he?"

Marigold nodded eagerly. "I like his stories about the brave princesses."

"All right, then," said John, determinedly avoiding Anna's eyes, "I'll tell you a story when we go back inside. We can have hot chocolate and sit around the fire. How does that sound?"

"Can I join in too?" Sybbie begged.

"Of course you can, darling. And George too, if he wants."

The little boy nodded, trying not to show how much he liked the idea, but it was evident in his little face.

"Now it's our turn," he said. "We need to decide whether your snowman is better, or Auntie Anna's."

"Go and discuss it, then," said Anna. "We'll wait here for you."

The three children nodded, then formed a tight circle, bobble hats close together as they debated.

"They're giving this some great thought, aren't they?" John whispered in amusement.

Anna giggled. "Hey, this is the most important decision these kids are going to make all day. I for one am hoping they make the right call."

"And that's yours, I suppose?"

"Of course! Look, mine has a cute smile!"

"Mine's fat. Fat is sweet."

"The judges have made their decision!" Sybbie yelled, breaking up their good-natured argument. They trekked back through the snow and stood in a line facing them, as if they were really giving the most important verdict of their lives. John tried to school his features into what he hoped was eager anticipation. George stepped forward.

"Ladies and gentlemen!" he announced. "The winner of the snowman competition is..."

"...Uncle John!" squealed Marigold.

John turned to Anna with a smirk. "You're right, the best person did." He stepped forward and made a sweeping bow.

"Thank you, thank you," he said. "This is a momentous occasion for me. Building snowmen is something I used to do as a boy, and it was always a dream that one day my hard work would be recognised by other youngsters..."

The children burst out laughing. He caught sight of Anna's affectionate smile out of the corner of his eye and felt warmth spread from his belly. Who needed whiskey or eggnog when someone looked at them like that?

"Now you get a prize!" Sybbie sang.

"And what will that be, oh great judges?"

They clustered together, whispering conspiratorially. And then they broke apart and scooped up a handful of snow each. John raised his eyebrow, but before he could say a word he was lambasted with three snowballs launched at him. George's hit him in the chest, Sybbie's right in his face, and Marigold's sailed well wide. He sputtered, stumbling back a few paces and almost losing his footing. Anna's loud laughter broke the calm air, and he blinked snow from his eyes to find her doubled over, clutching at her ribs in her mirth.

"Run!" George shouted amidst the Crawley children's own laughter, and they pelted past him before he could recover enough to snatch at one.

"Little shits," he said, trying to stop the cold snow from sliding down beneath his collar.

"Language, Mr. Bates," Anna scolded, but the severity was lost in her laughter. "I'm glad I _didn't _win if that's the prize on offer."

"You and me both," he muttered, shaking the water from his hair.

"And you were so smug to have won..."

"Pride before a fall, I know, I know." He glanced around. "Where have they gone now?"

"Probably ran inside to escape your wrath."

"Smart little buggers. They know I'm too slow to catch them."

"What would you have chosen as a prize if you could have picked?"

He scowled after the tracks the kids had left, though he wasn't really angry. "Well, it wouldn't have been that."

"Maybe _I _should give you a prize instead," Anna said behind him.

"Hmm?" Distracted, he turned back around, almost colliding with her. She'd made her way over to his side and was staring up at him with calculating eyes.

She was far too close. He could smell the spice of her perfume and see the faint freckles of grey in her blue eyes. She was biting at her lip, weighing something up.

"You'd like my prize, I bet," she said.

"Anna—" he began, not sure if it was a warning for her or for himself.

She didn't give him the chance to finish, closing the distance between them, rising up on her tiptoes, resting one gloved hand against the back of his neck, and finding his mouth with hers.

Time froze.

Her mouth was cold but the tip of her tongue, seeking entrance, was warm. She made a breathy little sound in the back of her throat, pressing her body tighter to his. Even through his layers, he could feel the soft curves of her body, and of their own accord his hands found her waist, anchoring her to him. Grounding him.

It was the most amazing thing he had ever experienced. His heart pulsed wildly in his chest, alive for the first time in years. She felt so _right _in his arms, as if she'd always been destined to be there.

He should push her away. Deny her. He would ruin her life. Older, damaged, alcoholic and criminal...he would tarnish her. Make her a laughing stock. People would sneer at her and call her names for tying herself to someone like him.

And yet, despite all of that, he couldn't stop himself. Couldn't stop himself from pulling her closer, from stooping to get better access to her mouth, from deepening the kiss. She sighed into his mouth, and it was a revelation.

He'd wanted her for years. Pined for her. Tortured himself with his imaginings of her with other men. Resigned himself to the fact that he _would _see it one day. It was inevitable. Anna wouldn't stay single forever. She'd find a man who deserved her, who would worship the ground she walked upon and give her the world. She deserved nothing less.

But she was here. With him. In his arms, kissing his mouth, holding his body in turn.

It was both the greatest and most terrifying moment of his life.

"Ewww! Gross!"

The sound of George's voice behind them made them break apart; John stepped back from her at once, almost falling over in his haste to turn around. George was standing there with a revolted look upon his little face.

"Sybbie!" he yelled over his shoulder, "I've just caught Auntie Anna and Uncle John kissing!"

There were more pounding footsteps and Sybbie skidded up, delight shining in her little round face. "Kissing? Aww! Like a Christmas miracle!"

"Kissing is icky," George informed her, wrinkling his nose. "Mummy and Daddy do it sometimes when they think I'm not looking. I don't get it. Why would anyone wanna share germs with a girl?"

Sybbie ignored her younger cousin, clapping her gloved hands in glee. "Is it true? Did you and Uncle John kiss, Auntie Anna?"

Wise move, John thought ruefully, going for Anna; Sybbie was as bright as her mother. He could have danced his way around the subject, said that it was nothing but a friendly peck between friends, but Anna was never one for twisting the truth. She would always tell it, no matter what. She held her head high now.

"We did," she said, her voice strong and unwavering. "It's the magic of the Christmas season, isn't it?"

"Mummy will be really happy," Sybbie told them. "So will Auntie Mary. And Donk! I've heard him saying before that he would like you and Uncle John to get married. Will you get married now?"

"Steady on," John said, slightly alarmed. He couldn't deny that the thought of marriage had crossed his mind at intervals, but to be asked that question by a child, when they had only kissed, _when they shouldn't have even kissed in the first place…_

Anna giggled, but said kindly, "It's very early for any talk of that kind, Syb."

The little girl bounced back from the disappointment very quickly. "Well, I'm going to tell Mummy and Daddy! Bye!"

And with that, she turned on her heels and raced away. George shot them another disgusted look and followed her, evidently reluctant to miss out on bringing such momentous gossip.

When they were gone, John scrubbed a hand down his face. "Shit."

"Oh, don't start that."

He wheeled around to face her, scowling. "Start what?"

"The noble prat act. The beating yourself up inside because you let yourself feel what you've always wanted to feel. I've no use for that, not today."

"Well, maybe you should," he retorted, a little stung.

"Why? So that I give you the tools you need to push me away? Give you the get out you need so we can pretend that this never happened? So you can sweep it under the carpet and never speak of it again?"

"That's not fair," he protested.

"Isn't it?" she challenged, looking him right in the eye. "Can you truly tell me that that wasn't exactly what you were planning to do?"

She had him cornered, and she knew it. Shaking his head, he glanced away from her. "It's a valid point."

"It's a stupid point."

"You're being naïve."

"No, I'm not. I'm being honest. More honest than you are. We've been dancing around this for years. I know I've not been imagining it all by myself. You feel it too. We're attracted to each other. Whenever we're together it just feels…right."

And, God help him, but it did. Whenever he was in her presence, he felt as if a weight had been lifted from him. He didn't think about his troubles. He didn't think about his loneliness. He just _was_. They laughed and joked, bounced seamlessly off one another, seemed to read each other's minds. No one in the whole world made him feel as relaxed and safe as she did, not even Robert.

He'd left London to try to build a new life for himself.

He had never expected to find his home within another person.

But that was what Anna was. His home. The only thing in life that mattered to him. The one person he would do absolutely anything for.

Which was why it would be better if they were never more than friends. He would ruin her life, and he couldn't bear that. He couldn't bear to be the reason the world looked upon her with derision, to have her ostracised simply for the act of wanting to be with him. Anna deserved the world. He had made many, many mistakes, and did not deserve such a second chance.

"Say something, please," she pleaded.

He cleared his throat, his throat suddenly dry. "Anna, you know I think the world of you. I _do_. I don't want to hurt you, or make you unhappy in any way."

"Then don't," she said fiercely. "Don't push me away and tell me I deserve better. I don't want better. I only want you. And there _is _no better man than you. You are everything I've ever dreamed of. You're the only one I will ever want again."

"You can't know that. You're so young."

"Don't patronise me! I _do _know it's true. Dating…it's not what I do. I've been hurt before, and badly. I always swore to myself that I would never give anyone else the power to hurt me again. I never have. But I'm standing here, holding my heart out in my hands for you, ready to let _you _hurt me because I want you to take my heart and keep it forever. I've never trusted a man as much as I trust you."

"I'm not worthy of such an honour."

"When have you ever been unworthy of it? You are more worthy than anyone else I know. There's no one else who goes out of their way to cheer me up when I'm feeling down in the dumps, and I've never had anyone else trek the whole way across town to see me with soup and crusty bread when I'm ill. You do all of these wonderful things for me and then say I deserve someone better? It's an impossibility, plain and simple."

His heart leapt at her praise. It was all he'd ever wanted to do, to look after her and make sure she had everything she needed. He remembered the day she spoke of plain as anything; when he'd heard she was ill, he'd made it his personal mission to get a basket of goodies together, making the soup himself from scratch. He could hardly be called the next Gordon Ramsey—well, perhaps where the swearing in the kitchen was concerned—but it had come from the heart and Anna had declared it the nicest thing she'd ever tasted. Which was probably a huge exaggeration, but it did not change the facts: he'd poured his heart and soul into that soup.

"It's right, John," she continued. "You know it is. You've felt the same things I have. No one feels as right as we do. Why do you insist on making us both unhappy?"

"It's short-term unhappiness. You _will _be happy with someone else, Anna."

"You can't make my choices for me," she fired back. "You can't decide what will make me happy. Only _I _can do that. And what will make me happy is you. Not Harry from down the road. Not the guy who serves me coffee in the morning. _You_."

"I've never been able to make anyone happy," he said, agonised.

"Don't be silly. Of course you have. You make your mother happy every single day."

"Not always, I haven't."

"You _have _made her happy! You're her only child, her whole world. She loves you with her whole heart. She'd brag you off to anyone who stood still long enough. You're her brave, strong war hero who's turned his life around. You make Robert happy just by being in his life. You're the one he owes his life to and he would do anything for you. You make _me _happy every single day. Every time I see you my heart wants to burst. I smile just thinking about you. I feel like a giddy schoolgirl. How can you say that you couldn't make me happy when every single day you bring happiness to my life?"

He had no answer for that. Whatever he said would be superfluous.

"And what about me? I make you happy, don't I?"

He closed his eyes. How could she ever question that? No one on earth made him happier than she did. The mere thought of her was enough to make him smile.

He loved her. That was the beginning and end of it. He loved her so much it hurt.

"Don't make us both unhappy," she whispered. "Give us a chance. If you can't do it at the most magical time of the year, when can you?"

He thought about her mouth over his, how perfect she had felt in his arms. Did he truly want to lose that feeling? To give it up, knowing he would never find it again?

Did he truly not deserve a second chance?

Anna believed he did. Was it not time to trust her?

Slowly, he nodded his head.

It was a defeat.

It was a victory.

Beaming, Anna threw herself back into his arms, almost making him topple over as her weight barrelled into him. He caught her around the waist and steadied them, giving a little disbelieving chuckle himself.

"God, I love you," she breathed into his coat. He tightened his grip on her and rested his chin against the top of her head. The words were right there in his mouth, full, ripe, ready to burst forth and bloom. Did he dare say them? If he did, it was over. There was no taking them back. No withdrawing. No pretending that this had never happened.

She made a sound of contentment against him, one of the most beautiful sounds he had ever heard. He was the cause of that. He made her happy, and she truly believed in that.

It was a heady feeling. A terrifying one. He couldn't mess this up. He couldn't.

She had faith in him. He could not fail her.

"I love you," he whispered against the crown of her head. There it was. Out in the open. Exposed. Hers to take, as his heart had always been.

"Thank God," she sighed. Craning her head back she looked him square in the face, then leaned up on her tiptoes. He had a split-second to register that she was going to kiss him again before her mouth was on his. He melted into her, letting his eyes drift closed. It was the softest kiss he'd ever experienced. Her fingers on the nape of his neck were soft and sweet. Loving. He never wanted this moment to end.

All moments did.

Most weren't ended with a loud whooping.

"Golly gumdrops! So Sybbie and George were telling the truth after all! I never thought I'd see the day!"

Reluctantly, they broke apart, Anna hiding her grin against the front of his coat.

"I don't suppose we can put this off for another day, can we?" she said, voice muffled against him.

"You wanted this," he reminded her.

She pulled back. "I did." Heedless of Robert's cheering behind them, she kissed him one last time. "And I wouldn't ever want it any other way."


End file.
